


Alone on Christmas Eve

by WeWillForeverBeYoung



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Emotional Sherlock, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Holidays, Implied Relationships (After the Ending), M/M, Self-Hatred, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:36:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeWillForeverBeYoung/pseuds/WeWillForeverBeYoung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have been apart for a while in the aftermath of the "Watson Domestic." Christmas time has come around, and everyone seems to be having an amazing time with the people they care about... except for Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On the Outside of Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! I just wanted to do something special for Christmas. This is a two-part story.  
> I hope you enjoy reading it!  
> Oh,  
> And I do not own BBC Sherlock. Just saying.

It seemed that he was doomed to spend Christmas alone again. He reasoned that such a fate would be substantially better than those he had endured the past few years: for example, there was the disgraceful party which ended with Molly in tears, the night he spent in a Serbian hotel room crying from guilt over the man he had just assassinated, and the night where he actually killed a man (though he was somewhat displeased for having to refer to Magnussen as a human man) in front of his best friend, his brother, and a group of British Secret Service members. In his eyes, spending Christmas alone this year was as close to a paradise as he was going to be allowed.

Mrs. Hudson had gone out to run some last-minute holiday errands before she went up north to see her sister for Christmas, and since John was no longer living at Baker Street, the flat was completely silent except for his own, loud, obnoxious thoughts. A few strands of garland lay strewn around the mantel and the window frames, and a cardboard box containing homely candles, ribbons, snow globes, and miniature wreaths sat on the kitchen counter- a sign of Sherlock’s vain and rather misguided attempt at decorating his own place by himself. He had been able to decorate the flat quite nicely in the past, but this year, John was not there to help him or jokingly scold him for putting something in a position to be tacky, and Sherlock really just was not in the mood to fit the sitting room with holiday spirit.

He now sat in his own chair, in a relaxed yet poised position- with both arms on their respective arm rests, while staring at his feet. Graham- Gavin- Grooster- well, whatever Lestrade was calling himself those days had invited him to the Yard’s annual Christmas party, and of course, as even Lestrade himself must have expected, Sherlock declined. Too many strange faces, and too many familiar ones who did not exactly want to see Sherlock’s face. Mycroft hadn’t pushed him to go and see Mummy, since the issues that had erupted the last time he had gone home to see his parents had not yet been resolved, and Mycroft hadn’t been planning on returning to his childhood home, either. They had both silently agreed to leaving each other alone until the holiday was over. Molly had found herself a new boyfriend and was spending Christmas eve night and Christmas morning over at his flat.

But Sherlock still had not heard anything from John yet. In fact, they had not talked to each other in quite some time. Mary was… well, both she and the baby were no longer in the picture, and in the aftermath, John had decided to live on his own. Which was fine with Sherlock, in the sense that Sherlock respected John enough to give him the space that he wanted. The flat felt empty, and Sherlock was absolutely miserable. Sherlock had hoped that John would at least have sent him a text wishing him a “Merry Christmas,” but he received nothing of the sort. His mobile never buzzed with texts from John. In fact, most of the time, his mobile sat quietly.

Sherlock had no idea where this thought came from-perhaps it was a side-effect of his loose regulation on his mind as of late, but he began wondering about the atmosphere of the city just outside his window. He had seen the decorations in the streets and on the public buildings, and he had walked past many shops displaying their products and their latest sales. In the past, it had always seemed wise for someone like him to avoid going out on Christmas Eve in order to avoid the large amount of procrastinators that lived in London. However, the scars on his back and on his torso were beginning to ache, and unlike John’s scars, Sherlock’s felt better in the cold.

Besides, Sherlock really needed to get out of the flat for the time being.

~

London was alive. It felt alive. The wind, in all its wispy, winter wonder, blew down the streets and carried with it the joy and excitement that was also carried in the hearts of its citizens. Sherlock could feel the beating heart of the city in the glistening lights, Christmas music, and giddy laughs among the inhabitants- and their beating hearts as well. The hours of Christmas Eve were waning, and Christmas was but a mere six hours away. It was a time when the battlefield was silent not from death, but from the occupation of its soldiers, for the likelihood of someone on the London battleground lowering their weapons for a moment was greater around Christmas than it was any other time of year. Sherlock, walking casually on the sidewalk, felt like he existed solely on the surface of London- the scenic staple in British heritage and culture, and one of the modern metropolises of an advancing human world (which, despite all of its stupidity, Sherlock saw the world as).

Sherlock rounded one corner and came upon a young girl and her mother, both bundled up from head-to-toe, staring into a window at a sweets shop. The young girl, with neatly-arranged braids and eyes full of the curious light of youth, pointed one gloved-finger at the chocolate-covered truffles posed in the display.

“Look momma!” the little girl cried. “Truffles! Me and grandad used to eat those together every Christmas before he died! You remember, momma?”

The mother smiled and nodded. “Of course, Lily. I never understood what you two liked about them so much.”

“Grandad always brought the truffles over to our house…” the little girl- Lilly- stopped mid-sentence. “How will I eat my truffles by the fire this year, momma?”

“I think Santa’s aware of everyone’s traditions,” the mother replied. “And since you were such a good girl this year, I think Santa might have made note to give you some truffles in your stocking this year.”

“You really think so?!”

The mother grabbed Lily’s shoulder and slowly led her away from the sweet shop. “I think Santa’s smarter than you give him credit for, Lily.”

Lily giggled. “If Santa brings me some truffles this year, I’m going to eat them up by the fire. And I’ll even set out a plate and put a few of them on there- for grandad!”

The mother laughed. “I think both Santa and grandad would appreciate that.”

Watching their conversation, Sherlock felt his lips curl up into a sad smile. He imagined what Lily’s face would look like when she woke up the following morning and had seen the box of truffles in her stocking, the smile on her face as she realized that Santa had remembered her grandfather after all, and the smile that her mother would bear as she saw her daughter set out a plate for her grandfather.

Santa was never a tradition in the Holmes household. The boys always just understood that Christmas was a time for giving, and people gave gifts to each other on Christmas morning, people went to go spend time with their families, and people gave to charities all throughout the year but especially during the month of December. And that viewpoint of Christmas had stayed in the Holmes household until all of the children had left and Mummy’s nest was empty.

He was happy that Lily got to enjoy such a tradition. He was happy that Lily, who was so full of light and innocence, who had probably never made many mistakes in her life, much less like the ones he had made, got to enjoy such a time of joy and mirth.

She actually deserved to have a wonderful Christmas.

~

He came upon Hyde Park, alight with snow, fairy lights, and snowball fights. Sherlock walked inside and quickly found an empty bench, which he took the opportunity to sit on. There he remained for a few moments, calmly breathing in-and-out and admiring the cloud that his warm breath made, which reminded him of cigarette smoke- relevant to a habit he had managed to kick.

He noticed a young, obviously newlywed couple walking along the pavement.

“I’m so glad I finally get a few days off,” the woman sighed. “All those overtime hours were really doing a number on my back.”

“You can say that again,” the man replied with a laugh. “I’m just glad we had enough to get gifts for everybody.”

“Yeah, I guess all that hard work really paid off in the end.”

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white box. “You know, this is our first Christmas as, well, husband and wife.” He held out the box so she could see it, and his wife gasped. “I’ve been working overtime to get something special for someone else too, you know. And I thought, ‘Why wait until tomorrow?’”

The woman put both hands over her mouth, trying her hardest to hold back tears of joy. “Oh, Dan! Y-You shouldn’t have!”

He handed her the box, and she quickly opened it. As soon as she saw what was inside of it, she could no longer hold in her tears. Sherlock could see the sparkle of the diamonds from where he was sitting.

“I know things have been tough recently with our finances,” Dan began. “And I know we’ve been struggling with- well, we’ve both figured out that biological children aren’t really going to be an option for the two of us. I just wanted to do something special.”

He took the necklace out of the box and put it around her neck. Sherlock had to admit- the man knew how to pick out excellent gifts for his wife.

“You shouldn’t have,” she said. “Because I was planning on doing the same thing!” The woman reached into her coat pocket and pulled out another small box.

He appeared shocked. “J-Jess… what is this?”

“It’s the key to the gates of Hades,” she replied sarcastically. “It’s a gift! What do you think it is?”

He smiled and opened it. He pulled out an expensive-looking, designer watch and quickly put it around his wrist.

“It fits perfectly…” He looked back at his wife. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

And they both embraced each other and bestowed upon one another a passionate kiss.

Although sweet as it was, Sherlock could not help but think back to John and Mary. John could have had those kind of happy memories together. John could have had those sorts of memories with anyone- hell, maybe even him. But Sherlock, after all this time and all of John’s forgiveness, could not shake the feeling that he had driven John away by things that he himself had caused, had the willpower to stop, and failed to. Perhaps he had brought such an awful, lonely Christmas upon himself.

He got up and walked hastily away. The night was upon London, and the air was growing even colder. He decided to make one final stop at the tea shop before going home.

~

Sherlock groaned as he walked up the stairs to 221B. He had taken longer at the tea shop than he had meant to, mainly because he kept spacing out every time he had tried to focus on what he was doing. Regardless of his mental state, Sherlock had bought a box of Earl Grey- his favorite- and had made it all the way home.

With a heavy heart that only comes from a combination of self-hatred and watching the entire world have joyous moments without you, he opened the door to his own flat.

…                               

He looked around his flat in shock for a few moments before his emotions caught up with him. He felt warm tears fall from his eyes, and he subconsciously let go of the box of tea.

**To be continued…**

 


	2. On the Inside of Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Thanks for coming back and reading.  
> I'm going to talk more at the end of this chapter. I hope you enjoy this.  
> I do not own BBC Sherlock.

When he had left, the flat had been complacent in its state of Sherlockian queerness. And now, upon his return, he found his sitting room illuminated with glory and joy from both the tasteful decorations and the souls waiting in the seats.

The aroma of Mrs. Hudson’s cooking radiated from the kitchen and into Sherlock’s nostrils; the woman herself stood the closest to him from where he was on the threshold, but he had to step further into the flat to peek into the kitchen to see if what he was actually smelling was really- in fact- there. His chemicals no longer sat on the kitchen table. Instead, the table contained neatly arranged china plates and polished utensils, topped off with ironed, folded green and red napkins. Around the plates, were dishes filled to their brims with food, but the main focus of Sherlock’s attention was bestowed upon the ginormous honey-glazed ham in the middle of the table. Mrs. Hudson had always cooked on Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve for Baker Street, and this year appeared to be no different.

He turned around and faced the sitting room once more. A Christmas tree had been erected in the corner next to the sofa and was ornamented with icicles, colored balls, tinsel, and multi-colored fairy lights. A velvet, Santa-themed tree skirt hung around the plastic trunk, and this very tree skirt had also been suffocated with wrapped boxes with ribbons and bags of red, gold, silver, and green. On top of the tree stood a cherub with a painted face dressed in holy-white fabric. It loomed over the room, and as he looked at it, the cherub’s mouth seemed to curl into a smile. Molly stood directly beside the tree, hanging up the very last icicle.

Stockings now hung from the mantel, and a fire cackled from the yule log in the fireplace. The skull now donned a Santa hat, and the Christmas cards that Sherlock had set aside when he received them had been tapped to the rim of the mirror above the mantel.  A pair of long, red candles stood tall in silver candle holders, surrounded by framed, garlanded photos of Sherlock with his friends. Greg stood with his elbow propped up on the mantel, and Mycroft stood by the open, wreathed windows, which were partly clouded from the snow. A few London-themed snow globes sat on the coffee table.

“Wh- why?” Sherlock asked softly, his eyes darting to-and-fro from the decorations, to the food, and then to the people. “What’s all this for?”

“It’s Christmas,” Greg replied. “It’s about time you celebrated it properly.” His normal, husky voice sounded light and peppy.

“Your brother planned the whole thing,” Mrs. Hudson added.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, and his brother subsequently nodded.

“But- what were you even thinking?”

“Well, in my defense, it was also Molly’s idea,” Mycroft said. “And to be fair, you are especially easy to trick around this time of year.”

Molly smiled. “We needed to get you out of the flat for a while, so Mycroft and I came up with a plan to make you think that you were going to be spending Christmas alone. Mycroft figured you would try to get some fresh air after the flat had been quiet for so long, given your thinking habits. After he saw you leaving, he cued us to come in and doll the place up. We all really wanted you to have- well, a Christmas for yourself.”

Sherlock blinked a couple of times; his mind was racing to try and absorb every detail in the room, as well as the state of blissful, surprised shock that the people he had trusted had sent him into. He found that he was not even mad that they had gone behind his back to do this, nor mad at himself for not noticing. He had never really been surprised that much over the course of his life, and when he was, it was never as pleasant as this.

“Well, what do you think, mate?” Greg asked. “Do you like it?”

“I-I- “Sherlock looked at Greg and gave him a sly smile. “Of course I like it, idiot.”

Mrs. Hudson clapped and cheered. Greg returned the smile. Mycroft and Molly exchanged glances, both of them quite proud of themselves.

“There’s… still one thing though,” Sherlock said. All of the happiness drained from the room, and everyone looked at Sherlock to see what he was on about.

Sherlock looked directly at Mycroft, who had an idea of what might be bothering Sherlock. “Where’s John?” he said.

Mycroft’s fingers banded together into a fist and then unraveled themselves somewhat apprehensively. Mrs. Hudson’s gaze fell to the floor, and Greg and Molly looked to Mycroft to offer up and explanation.

“We asked John if he wanted to come, and he refused,” Mycroft answered solemnly. “He wished to spend this holiday alone, but he did tell us to send his best wishes.”

Sherlock swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. _At least he sent his regards,_ he thought.

“Sherlock- “Molly began, stepping forward.

He held his hand up. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just take off my coat, and then- and then we’ll eat.”

~

They all sat at the kitchen table and gave in to their earthly desires. Mrs. Hudson had relished in the fact that someone other than Sherlock and herself were enjoying her cooking. Sherlock and Greg told stories about excursions that they had gone on together as a result of those peculiar crime scenes that always seemed to be attracted to London. Molly listened to their stories, laughing every so often to Greg’s “exaggerated way of remembering things,” according to Sherlock. Mycroft felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, but he decided that he could have risked to actually take a vacation from work when he took some of his accumulated vacation days.

Every so often, Mycroft and Sherlock would exchange looks. A certain level of mutual understanding had grown between them- a silent conversation that only they could participate in and grasp. Mycroft was glad that Sherlock could have a peaceful Christmas for a change, as well as Sherlock himself. There was a sense of thankfulness and respect that existed between them. Both were glad to see the other enjoying themselves on a holiday that had received a negative connotation from the two of them.

Midnight rolled around. All of Sherlock’s unexpected guests, which now had full stomachs, decided to retreat to their own homes, giving Sherlock hugs and lots of well-wishes. Sherlock thanked them passionately, still unable to believe that all of this had been done for him.

~

It had been an hour since his guests had left. Sherlock was now seated in his chair once more, this time admiring how spirited and queer his flat looked. The hollow pit in his chest had begun to feel fulfilled, warm, even.  The telly was tuned in to the encore of the Christmas special of that sci-fi show that John used to stress out about.

It was then that there came a knocking on the front door of Baker Street. Figuring that Mrs. Hudson had likely retired to her own bed, and feeling in a good enough mood to put up with whomever went around knocking on people’s front doors at one o’clock on Christmas morning, Sherlock leapt out of his chair and went downstairs to answer the door.

“I’m coming,” he called as he stepped off the bottom stair and went about opening the locks. With more haste than was probably necessary, he swung open the front door.

The man on the other stared at Sherlock for a moment, almost as though he was unable to believe that Sherlock had answered his knocks. “I’m- uh, sorry I missed the gathering,” the man said.

Sherlock shook his head, feeling dream-like himself. “You don’t have to be sorry for that.”

John stepped forward and embraced Sherlock, who readily returned the hug.

“I thought I wanted to spend Christmas alone this year,” John said against Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock felt him quiver. “I thought I was still angry at you. I couldn’t sleep, so I started reflecting more on everything that happened. And then I knew that I had been so wrong to hold everything against you…”

“No,” Sherlock replied. “You had a right to be mad.”

“Yeah, but not at you.” John lifted his head and looked into Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock noticed the book bag strapped to John’s back. “Do you mind if I stay the night? My flat’s awfully quiet.”

Sherlock nodded. “You needn’t have bothered to ask.”

~

Sherlock brought John upstairs and into the flat. He offered his assistance in helping John in getting his snow-dusted jacket off.

“There’s some leftovers from dinner in the kitchen,” Sherlock said, gesturing in the general direction of the fridge.

“I’m not that hungry,” John answered. He sat down in what was understood to be his chair.

“Ah. Well then.” Sherlock resumed his place across from John.

John licked his lips, trying to figure out what he wanted to say next. “So, what’s new with you?”

“Nothing, really. Nothing interesting is happening. And you?”

“Same.”

Sherlock nodded. They sat in silence for a few moments, though the silence was not in the least bit awkward. Each man was relishing in the fact that they were in what was considered their normal and rightful places in the flat- in the world.

“This place looks amazing.”

“Mycroft and the others came up when I was out and decorated it.”

“They did a fantastic job.”

“So they did.”

John, who was focused on the pictures on the mirror, looked back at Sherlock. “It’s good to be here sitting with you, again. I’d have never thought that I would miss being able to sit in a certain place as much I did.”

Sherlock smirked.

“I’d have never thought that I would be able to miss you as much as I did. I’ve never missed anyone so much before, not even the first time you were removed from my life.”

Sherlock’s smirk faded. “I had no idea.”

John rubbed his eyes the same way one tries to rub the sleep from them. “I thought separating myself from the situation was the best course of action. I thought I could better mourn my family away from you. But I’ve only just been reunited with you for a few minutes and I already feel better.”

“I understand. My mood has drastically improved now that you are here as well.”

John looked at the fire, which now consisted of soft embers. “I’ve still been on-edge, even though the threats are gone. I feel like I’ve been trying to escape something that is no longer there… What an awfully thick conversation to be having on Christmas.”

They both erupted in soft laughter. Sherlock remembered how nice it was to laugh with John.

“I never should have left Baker Street,” John said once their laughter had died down.

“It’s quite alright, John. You did what you thought was necessary for your own self-preservation.”

John shook his head. “No. I hurt you. And don’t try to convince me that I didn’t. I know you too well and I’ve grown to care about you enough to know when you’ve been hurt. And I almost let myself forget how warm this place is… It’ so strange at what a little space can do to your perspective on things.”

Sherlock felt his chest fill will anticipation. “So, you are returning to live with me once the holiday is over?”

John propped his arm up on the arm rest and rested his head against his hand. “If you’ll let me. This flat is a lot nicer than the house I’m living in now.”

Sherlock’s logic and self-control failed him, and he jumped up and wrapped himself around John tightly. John simply giggled and sank back more into his chair.

“This is- by far- the greatest gift that anyone has ever given me,” Sherlock whispered.

“Good,” John replied. “Because not only did I miss your surprise party, but I also neglected to buy you a gift on my way over here.”

“You’re becoming more and more like me.”

“Well, you know what they say. You are who you hang out with. The real dilemma is whether or not the influence is positive.”

Sherlock laughed. “Happy Christmas, John.”

“Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your support. I hope you enjoyed this story, and I hope you have some really awesome holidays and a terrific New Year. Joy and peace be with you.  
> -WeWillForeverBeYoung

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading part one! This story was not Beta-read or Brit-picked. If you see a mistake, let me know! If you have any positive feedback or constructive criticism you can give me, let me know! I appreciate your support.  
> Happy Holidays!


End file.
